


Hope's Legacy: Heart of Thorns

by Griffinswings



Series: Arboretum [2]
Category: Guild Wars 2 (Video Game), Guild Wars Series (Video Games)
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-12-13
Updated: 2017-12-13
Packaged: 2019-02-14 09:47:36
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,194
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13005120
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Griffinswings/pseuds/Griffinswings
Summary: The HL Guild moves into the Maguuma jungle to slay Mordremoth.HL: HoT loosely follows the main plot of Heart of Thorns, using it as a springboard to explore original characters and their relationships. Includes AU elements including extrapolation on previous GW2 plot points (Malyck; The Font of Maguuma; etc.).





	Hope's Legacy: Heart of Thorns

Cannonfire’s muffled booms were still sounding from beyond the canyon. The light of their blazing from the west was painting the midnight skies like dawn. Still, Talæesyn couldn’t shake the feeling that something was desperately, hopelessly wrong. The egg that Caithe had stolen, again, was of course their top priority, so why was it that he felt his mind wandering further and further away from this goal, and more into unorganized terror?

 

The wind shaking the branches overhead and the hum of insect wings didn’t purr in comforting harmonies. Instead, it felt as if the trees were closing in on him, pulling in tighter and tighter as he made his way through the forest that connected the Brisban Wilds with the canyons that blocked Mordremoth’s grasp.

 

As he rounded into the clearing, he felt a strange urge rising up from within him, a strong tugging at the back of his mind. The urge to draw blood, to maim… to--

 

_Kill them all._

 

The voice spoke like a whisper without real form, and before he knew what was happening, he realized his hand had reached reflexively for his sword. He yanked his hand back as though the grip had burned him, and skidded to a halt, eyes unfocused.

 

Somewhere in his periphery he vaguely registered Horus and Sapphire continuing without him.

What had he just been about to do?

 

A low voice brought him back to the present.

 

“Are you alright, Tal?” Horus spoke, turning back toward him.

 

“I--” he stuttered, swallowing hard. “Yes. I’m fine.”

 

His eyes narrowed at him evaluatively, but he could see the charr’s understanding. Talæesyn knew he too was replaying Caithe’s memory seed within his mind. However, there was no accusation to his gaze.

 

“If you’re sure.” he said. “Let’s keep moving.”

 

“Right.” He replied.

  
He urged his heart to beat more slowly and forced his eyes to focus on the moonlit path. The others were waiting on their arrival. The others were waiting on his arrival, and for as much as it would make his heart ache to see Mercer again, Talæesyn welcomed the easing burden of a shared secret.

 

His nerves were finally getting to him, he decided, but his sword would not bring him comfort now. Instead, he waved his hand before him, painting blue aura into the air, weaving the light together until it shaped a rod. He reached to catch the staff as it solidified and gravity took its hold, letting its glow light the way through to the clearing.

 

As the trees thinned, he could make out shapes ahead-- the silhouette of a charr, a norn and a large golem… the faint glow of petals, ferns and eyes as heads turned to greet him and the others with somber glances.

 

Their approach brought heavy silence.

 

As his gaze found it’s way past the others and out into the valley below, he realized that it was not the blaze of gunfire that lit the sky, but an inferno. The smoke-filled horizon was dotted with falling airships, some still gripped in the clutches of towering vines. The flames were engulfing much of the dry northern jungle, and amongst the wreckage, he could see figures fighting to escape the fires.

 

“The fleet…” Talæesyn said finally, unable to tear his eyes away from the horrible sight below. “What happened?”

 

“Almost as soon as they reached the brink, something went wrong...” Taimi started. “Braham ran off, looking for Eir. Rox went after him. Shylah, Theo, Jory and Kas went down to see if anyone is alive and needs our help.”

 

Talæesyn listened carefully, noting that a particular name had not been mentioned.

 

“Where’s Gaeren?"

 

The others looked at each other, as though each not wanting to be the bearer of the news. Tal’s heart beat faster in his chest as Trace stepped forward, a letter in his hand.

 

Talæesyn ripped it open fervently.

 

Hello Tal (or should I say, Commander),

Change of plans. I'll be leaving aboard the Durmand's Crusade tomorrow, bright and early. I know you wanted me to meet up with you and your team, but Archon Stick requested I be a part of the assault. I guess he figures I've fought a dragon before, so I'm qualified to fight another one. I'm sure you can relate. Anyways, at this rate, I'm gonna have this dragon beat before you even get to Maguuma. Have fun finding another job when I do!

-Gaeren

  
  


“No… no, no, no...” He muttered under his breath.

 

He felt his heart plummet into his stomach as he read each line. Was there any possibility that he had survived the crash? Would he survive on the ground even if he had? Had he even made it to the ground or had he— no. He refused to acknowledge that as an option.

 

If only he had waited for him.

 

God damn it, Gaeren.

 

“If that weren’t enough, only Shylah’s returned so far, and… She found her father’s body.”

 

An additional pang of guilt washed over him.

 

“Glint guide her…” he heard Sapphire mutter. “The poor girl.”

 

“Yes, well,” Cadteryn said quietly, speaking up from behind Gwynivere, “She ran back off for now. I would be careful when you talk to her… or anyone for that matter, Tal… There aren’t many things we know about the crash except...”

 

Her gaze fell away. Her refusal to make eye contact made Talæesyn’s chest tighten.

 

“Except what?” he asked slowly.

 

“It’s not something you’re going to want to hear.” Cadteryn said.

 

“This isn’t about what I do or do not want to hear.” Tal replied. “Tell me.”

 

Cadteryn looked to Gwyn, as though for reassurance.

 

“Survivors we’ve found so far say that the sylvari on board went mad.” Trace continued for her. “Started lighting up ammunition, driving ships into the ground… They say the Jungle Dragon took them.”

 

There was a moment of tense silence in which Talæesyn felt the burning gazes of his crew awaiting his reaction.

 

Seeing the lack of shock upon his face, Mercer’s brow furrowed.

 

“What do you know that you aren’t telling us?” He asked.

 

Talæesyn hesitated.

 

“Mercer, we all felt it.” Cadteryn whispered in his stead. “You should know by now.”

 

“But you knew first.” Mercer shot back, his demanding gaze not leaving Talæesyn. “And you didn’t tell us, why?”

 

“I didn’t have time!” Tal said defensively.  
  
“Liar!” Mercer snapped.

 

“I only just learned myself… Caithe’s memories showed us.”  
  


“So, the firstborn knew...”

 

“Enough, both of you!” Gwyn interrupted. “This doesn’t help us now.”

 

Mercer seethed audibly. Talæesyn sighed. This was going about as well as he had imagined it would. He ran a hand down his face in thought.

 

“Gwyn’s right.” He said, finally. “This isn’t the time or place for this. We need to get down there and see if we can find any survivors. That’s our first priority.”

 

The others followed him with little dissent as they climbed their way down from the plateau over the wastes that met the Brink. By the time they reached the cliffs, the fires had quieted. Whether they had been extinguished or simply run out of fuel, Tal couldn’t tell. The hollow shells of the blackened ships stood like ruined towers over the cliffs below. One chunk of a ship had fallen into the ground, marking a thick ring of metal. A small fire was shining in the night from within, glinting off of the surrounding steel supports. It was too small to be a burning bit of wreckage.

 

Survivors?

 

Talæesyn half ran, half slid down the steep incline and onto the jungle floor, kicking up soot at his feet. The ash was still falling through the air like snow, but he could see his target clearly. As he approached, the figures became more distinct. A group of humans, two charr, a few asura, three norn and… Laranthir!

 

“You’re a welcome sight, Commander.” Laranthir said as he approached, waving an arm.

 

“Laranthir, glad to see you survived… Status report?” Tal asked.

 

“The situation is grim.” Laranthir started, his face darkening. “Mordremoth tore the fleet apart. The pact is in ruins. Trahearne and Destiny’s Edge were taken prisoner. They were alive, but now MIA, and the remaining soldiers no longer trust me.”

 

Marjory stepped forward into the firelight from where she stood next to Kasmeer, her arms crossed.

 

“And you’re surprised?” She asked. “Scarlet, Aerin, and now this. Mordremoth always uses sylvari to do its dirtiest dirty work.”  
  
Talæesyn shot her a warning glance, and she quieted again. Thankfully, one of the other soldiers spoke up in her silence.

 

“We need to strengthen our defenses around here. Our priority has to be salvaging weapon parts from the crash site.” The Priory charr spoke.

 

Before Tal had time to think, Laranthir responded, his voice tired and rehearsed.

 

“What about our comrades in the cavern? The Pact does not abandon its own.”

 

“Look around, ‘sir’.” The charr responded. “There is no more Pact. And the prisoners you want to save are probably already dead.”

 

“Think it through, soldier.” Laranthir said carefully. “We need greater numbers, or any salvage party we send will disappear just like the others…”

 

“Stand by, Laranthir.” Talæesyn interrupted. “I need to think this through.”

 

He closed his eyes, running scenarios in his mind.

 

There were the facts: There were pact members trapped in a cavern presumably nearby, taken prisoner by Mordremoth’s forces. There was a necessity to protect what few survivors were left from the crash that had also escaped that raiding party.  

 

However much it pained him to admit it, there was also the very real possibility that Laranthir’s  thoughts were being influenced, just as his were just hours ago. He could feel his instincts telling him to rescue the prisoners, but could he even trust his _own_ mind?

 

As though in the distance, he heard the voices of nearby pact members discussing their fate.

 

“We need supplies and salvage to build up this position, or we’re all gonna die.” Said one low norn voice.

 

“No, Laranthir’s right this time. We have to rescue the Pact prisoners. It’s both logical, and our duty.” an asura voice piped up.

 

There were no sylvari survivors in this group. This likely meant that those who had been on the nearby ships had either died or turned. This group was unlikely to trust his judgement, no matter what his decision was.

 

The way forward was clear.

 

“Everyone, listen up!” He called out, voice booming over the flames. “We’ve suffered a serious setback, but we’re far from beaten. I trust Laranthir. If you trust me, you can trust him. We’re all still on the same side, understood?”

 

“Yes, Commander!” The asura from earlier called back.

 

“Laranthir will join me on the search-and-rescue team. If you would like to join this team, volunteer now. If you are _not_ on this team, dig in and fortify this position.”

 

Two new hands raised to accompany him, along with the hands of Gwyn, Cadteryn, Zaven and Trace. He beckoned them over to his side of the fire. The others stepped away.

 

“Good. Now fall in and get to work!”

 

The effect of his command was immediate. The other Pact members started up to move out. However, the Priory charr looked at him with disgust.

 

“It’s not worth risking more lives to save sylvari prisoners.” She spoke up gruffy, stopping the others in their tracks. “They’re already gone. Sylvari belong to Mordremoth.”

 

With that, she shoved her way past the others, out of the ring and into the wilds toward the Silverwastes.

 

Talæesyn grit his teeth, but ultimately could not stop her decision. As if a question, he raised his eyebrows, meeting the gaze of every remaining Pact member. When no voices answered, he turned on his heel.

 

The others followed closely as he made his way at the point of the group, turning to Laranthir for instructions every time they reached a new split in the path. They found their way down a set of ruined stairs in a cavernous alcove until they reached a small stream by a cliffside.

 

Bloodstains marked the ground around them, but there were no bodies to be found.

 

“Not a good sign…” Tal muttered under his breath.

 

He allowed his light-magic-forged staff to dissipate into the air around them, not wanting to draw more attention to them all in the dark.

 

It was too late, however.

 

As though on cue, a group of imposingly large mordrem emerged from a cave to the north of them, and like clockwork, the team fell into fighting positions.

 

“So nice of you to come to us…” The foremost guard said, baring its gnarled teeth in a twisted grin. It waved an arm, and with that, the other guards bolted forward.

 

The first guard to attack was felled by Laranthir’s rifle, it’s armored body splashing up mud and water as it hit the ground.

 

Talæesyn led the charge into the center of the group, greatsword drawn. Gwyn and Cadteryn and the Whispers norn followed suit, while Laranthir, Trace, Zaven and the Vigil asura stayed behind at range.

 

Tal swung heavily at the largest mordrem guard, cleaving into it’s side and narrowly avoiding its own hammer blow. An arrow from another guard grazed his left bracer as he sidestepped the first guard’s upward swing.

 

With finesse, he plunged his sword up and into the guard’s chest, spattering thick golden blood onto his face and arms.

 

A tangling vine emerged from the dirt beneath him, grabbing onto his ankles and setting him off balance. He cursed as he fell forward and into the fray, his greatsword still firmly planted in the fallen Mordrem’s chest. Crying out as the vine’s thorns pierced his armor and carved into his legs, he turned himself over just in time to see a large sword aimed directly at him.

 

He waved his palms in front of him, conjuring a shield that deflected the blow and knocked the guard back, directly into the path of Gwyn’s hammer. It smashed into the Mordrem’s skull with a sickening crunch. Cad knelt beside him under the exchange of arrows and bullets and sliced the vines from his legs with her dagger.

 

“Move.” She murmured as the hammer-wielding Mordrem made to strike again.

 

Talæesyn rolled out of the way and back onto his feet, wrenching his sword free from the corpse’s chest.

 

Suddenly, a voice called from above.

 

“Can anyone hear me?” It asked, panicked. “We’re up here!”

 

The action seemed to stop for a brief moment as both Pact and Mordrem listened to the voice above. However, when the short lived peace was over, the Mordrem seemed all the more aggressive.

 

“Commander, you heard that, right?” Zaven asked, slicing through the weapon-arm of the smallest Mordrem Guard. “From above?”

 

“Yes.” Tal replied through gritted teeth as he swung his greatsword around him with great force, slicing into the hamstring of that same guard before pulling his pommel into the abdomen of another.

 

Soon, the mordrem were cut down entirely, leaving the stream running amber beneath them. Vines, just the same as what had rooted Tal earlier, emerged from the ground and wrapped their tendrils around the bloodied bodies and severed limbs, pulling them back toward the cave from which they came.

A chill ran up Talæesyn’s spine as he watched the vines slowly consuming the fallen guards. He couldn’t help but imagine himself in their place. A ring of laughter echoed in his mind that was distinctly not his own.

 

He forced it from his mind, swallowing hard.

 

Another long pathway of stone stairs wound up the cliffside, separating them from the voice they had heard. They made their way up single file, each checking to make sure their magi-gliders were prepared to launch in case one of them fell. When they reached the top, there was a clearing with several cages shaped from vines. Talæesyn felt as though he had seen the Nightmare Court using cages like these back near the Grove.

 

“Get us out of here!” the voice called from within one of the tangled cages.

 

“We’re coming!” Talæesyn replied.

 

The group moved forward, each drawing weapons or knives to slice through the thick vines and branches that surrounded the prisoners. As the vines fell, Tal saw Pale Reaver uniforms, along with corpses— even those of sylvari— at their feet. One by one, they were released from their cages.

 

“I’m ready to kill the enemy, sir.” said one of the Pale Reavers, saluting Talæesyn. “All I need is my rifle and a clear line of sight.”

 

“I knew someone would come for us…” Said another. “Thanks.”

 

“Don’t mention it.” said Trace, sheathing his daggers once more. “The Mordrem keep taking corpses and prisoners. You’re the first we’ve had of any sign of where they end up.”

 

“We feared the worst when you went missing. Glad to see you’re alive. What went on here?” Zaven asked.

 

The Pale reavers looked to each other before one spoke up.

 

“Mordremoth’s forces overpowered us.” he said. “They locked us up here… with corpses from the crash site. They took the others south to ‘join the jungle dragons army’. We would have been next.”

 

“We didn’t break.” another continued, her eyebrows drawing together in righteous fury. “And now we’re going to give Mordremoth’s horde a taste of what it gave us.”

 

“I hope this proves what I’ve been saying— if we work together, this doesn’t have to be a total disaster.” Laranthir said softly to Talæesyn.

 

“I believed you.” Tal replied, hoping the firmness in his words would help Laranthir feel more at ease.

 

Just then, a booming voice interrupted them.

 

“Welcome, fodder.” It said, a huge Mordrem emerging from the thick. “Mordremoth has plans for you all.”

 

It was nearly twice Talæesyn’s height and armored twice as broad. Tal thought to himself that it must be one of Mordremoth’s champions.

 

It wielded a hammer with a head roughly the size of Talæesyn’s own chest. Being hit with it would not be an option— for any of them.

 

Just as this thought crossed his mind, the Mordrem opened its mouth again in a cheshire cat grin.

 

“Mordremoth! Your enemies are here. Help your servants destroy them.”

 

Talæesyn felt the ground shake beneath his feet as Mordremoth’s voice seared across his mind once more.

 

“This world is mine.” It roared.

 

The ground buckled underneath them and they scattered just in time to see a huge twisted Mordrem neck at least three stories high breaching through the dirt. The Breacher spit out dozens of half formed Mordrem wolves which took the offensive as soon as their claws hit earth.

 

Laranthir and the rescued Pale Reavers began attacking them from range using arrows and rifles to spray into the crowd. A single blow from Gwyn’s hammer took down the nearest wolf, but it wasn’t long before Cadteryn was overpowered. She fell back to the ground as the wolves mauled her flesh, tearing into her shoulder and arm.

 

Talæesyn pulled Kudzu from his back, kneeled, and aimed a single arrow at through the side of the first wolf, knocking it over and off of Cadteryn. Two further shots ended the assault, but before he had the chance to help her up, he found himself the target of the massive Mordrem hammer wielder.

 

He shifted his focus quickly, calling for allied fire behind him as he kneeled again and aimed four shots directly into the Mordrem’s torso. The Mordrem was barely fazed. A single blow to the ground shook the ground so heavily that he lost his balance, nearly falling over and into the dirt. He slung Kudzu back over his shoulder and unsheathed his greatsword, calling back for Trace and Zaven to come in close alongside him.

 

Zaven sliced deeply into the Mordrem’s back as Trace grabbed Talæesyn’s used arrows and thrust the tip of one into the Mordrem’s eye.

 

The Mordrem flailed blindly for a moment, causing the group to fall back at range and avoid its swinging hammer.

 

“There is no escape, Commander.” The Mordrem laughed. “You will all serve the Jungle Dragon.”

 

The hammer hit ground again, causing vines to spring up from its path. Tal could see Gwyn before him becoming tangled, the vines forcing her to the ground. She was a perfect target.

 

He ran to her, slashing open the vines with his sword, hacking at the ones at her neck, wrists and waist. As he carved through the ones at her feet and urged her to move, however, he could sense something behind him.

 

The Mordrem had regained awareness. Talæesyn just had time to stand and avoid its first swing, but failed to move in time to dodge its second. The hammer came up and around, momentum carrying it horizontally with great speed. The sound of his own ribs cracking filled his ears as the hammer hit him squarely in the back.

 

He blacked out.

 

When he came to, his vision was blurry. Out of the haze, he could see Trace plunging both of his blades deep into the Mordrem’s abdomen. Golden blood spurted up onto his face and arms as he withdrew the blades and lunged again.

 

He blinked.

 

Gwyn was on her feet again, dancing around the Mordrem’s blows with renewed vigor. He saw Trace improvisationally grab a thick severed vine from the ground and tangle the Mordrem’s legs. Just as he did, Gwyn took a swing at the back of its knees, setting it off balance.

 

Tal stood up, shaking his head clear and rushed the Mordrem with all his strength. As his shoulder hit his enemy’s chest, the Mordrem was knocked onto its back.

Tal regained his balance as well and, raising his sword with a mighty cry, plunged it deep into the Mordrem’s chest.

 

As he drove the sword down into the Mordrem champion’s heart, he felt a thrill coursing through his veins. His mouth twitched into a grin. The violence, the gore… It felt exhilarating. He wanted to kill more.

 

As he looked down into the Mordrem’s face and met it’s dying eyes, it’s face contorted into a smile as well. He heard it begin to laugh-- just a low chuckle of understanding that soon became a gurgle as the light left it’s eyes.

 

Tal let himself sit, weight on the blade for just a moment as he forced himself back to reality. The buzzing in the back of his mind was growing stronger.

 

He wanted to throw up.

 

He conjured his staff again as a light source as he sheathed his greatsword. Hugging one arm around his chest, he focused on healing his ribs and back before looking around at the injuries of the others.

 

He moved toward Cadteryn who had taken shelter back in one of the open cages and was tending to her wounds. He knelt beside her, taking a look at the thick golden claw and tooth marks that had ravaged her elbow, shoulder and chest.

 

“I’m sorry.” He said quietly, collecting blue light in his outstretched palms. “This might hurt.”

 

She nodded in understanding and closed her eyes tightly as he pressed his hands to each of the wounds. Within moments, they were healed nearly completely. Just a shadow of the wounds before still lingered.

 

“We’d better get back to camp.”

 

They traveled the path back in relative silence. Tal could hear murmurs behind him as the group consolidated, asking questions about their experiences, planning for their next fights.

 

As they reached the campsite, Talæesyn noticed that there were new faces, but also a significantly larger number of injured than there were before.

  
This was the price of his decision. Obviously they hadn’t been able to secure enough supplies to fully fend off further raids.

 

“Listen up!” he called to the others. “We’re breaking camp. Get the wounded to the Silverwastes.”

 

“Commander?”  Laranthir spoke up, motioning him aside.

 

Talæesyn followed.

 

“There are more Pale Reavers out there.” He said, quietly. “I’d like to gather them together and take command. As a sylvari-only unit, we can monitor and protect ourselves from threats both internal and external. If any of us show signs of… Faltering, the others will do what needs to be done.”

 

“Consider your request authorized.” Tal replied. “Good luck, Laranthir… May the Pale Mother guide and protect us all…”

 

“Thank you, Commander.” Laranthir said, a weary smile on his face. “I’m headed to the high ground--That’s where the Pale Reavers were trained to go. And do talk to some of those that we rescued. They may have overheard valuable intel while they were imprisoned.”

 

Talæesyn nodded, returning the other’s tired smile and turned toward the group. However, just as he was about to address his comrades once more, he noticed something out of the corner of his eye.

 

Shylah had returned, and her expression was plain to read. All at once, he became aware of how he must look to her-- conferring privately with another Sylvari while the others carried wounded up the cliffs.

 

“Shylah…” He said, cautiously, remembering what had been said earlier.

 

“ _You!_ ” Shylah responded, drawing her sword and pistol immediately.

 

Tal, in exchange, lowered his staff, laying it on the ground beside him and raising his hands.

 

“I’m not going to fight you, Shylah. We’re on the same side.”

 

“Same side??” She responded. “You led us here-- into this-- this carnage and now… You expect me to believe you didn’t know?”

 

“I didn’t, Shylah. I promise you. I would never have led us here if I had known.”

 

She stepped forward only just, pistol raised and aimed between his own eyes. Talæesyn heard the others reaching for their own weapons defensively, but moved a hand to tell them to stand down.  
  


“They say the Sylvari bombed the ships. Attacked the pilots, drove the ships toward each other. All the while people, like my father, struggled to put them down.”

 

“There’s nothing I can say that will make this right,” Tal said, his stomach knotted and writhing, “I can’t undo the past or bring the dead back to life.”

 

“You’re right. Nothing you can say will undo what you’ve done.”

 

Within an instant, she blinked forward, her silhouette shattering into a swarm of butterflies and reappeared at the center of their group, just behind Tal. With a single motion, she raised her sword, eyes locked on the commander, and before anyone could respond, struck true.

  
  


⁂

 

For a brief moment, Mercer’s eyes locked on Talæesyn’s. Whether from shock or illusion, it seemed as though the world had stopped. The roaring flames behind them became silence, and all Mercer could hear was the faintest of cries, almost a gasp of surprise, from Talæesyn’s lips. His eyes grew wide and unfocused, his head turning back toward the blackened sky, as the blade blossomed from his chest. And there behind him, stood Shylah, her whole body leaned into the thrust, looking on in grim satisfaction from his shadow.

 

Mercer could feel his blood beginning to boil. His throat burned, rough and dry, cracking his voice as he shouted, teeth bared.

What had she done?

 

What had she _done??_

 

He would _kill_ her. He would rend her soul from her body before she had time to withdraw the blade. He would paint the forest with her blood, tear her heart from her breast and weave her back together to do it again.

 

He would make her suffer.

 

But before he could reach for his axe, he realized he was struggling against a sharp grip on his arm. Cadteryn was stopping him, and he nearly turned his blade on her before he understood why.

 

There, amidst the screaming emotions and the static of conflicting magics, he could feel it. Talæesyn’s lifeforce had not yet fully faded.

 

In that moment, time began again. Shylah had drawn back her sword, leaving Talæesyn free to collapse facedown onto the dirt before him. At that same time, he saw Gwynivere leap forward to cleave the mesmer in two, but no sooner than her blade was within reach, Shylah's figure shattered into a cloud of butterflies and reappeared at the edge of the trees.

 

Gwyn turned back to Cadteryn, who in turn gave Mercer a reassuring look before vanishing into the night to pursue her. As much as it sickened him to relinquish that control, Mercer begrudgingly gave it. His revenge could wait. Talæesyn would not.

 

With this in mind, he quickly knelt beside his fallen form. Even in the dim firelight he could see the blood darkening the amor around the wound. He quickly turned him over, cradling him for a moment in his arms before placing him gently back on the ground.

 

Mercer let out a shaky breath, feeling some relief as he dried his eyes knowing that Talæesyn was unconscious. Talæesyn’s staff-- the beam of pure white light had not yet disappeared, and so Mercer pulled it toward him, as he searched his mind for a healing spell.

 

If he could not heal him directly, perhaps he could heal him through healing himself.

 

He quickly withdrew the thin dagger from his hip and unflinchingly carved a deep line into the flesh of his palm. As the golden blood began to pool upon the surface, he pressed it firmly to the wound in Talæesyn’s chest.

  
  


The light of the staff was quickly polluted by his grip as he raised it skyward, sending spirals of inky blackness through it’s bright white glow as he called for the souls of the dead to come forth.

 

All at once, the light of the crash behind him brightened as hundreds of green orbs began streaming through the air, suctioning toward him with more force than he could handle. He braced himself as their energy merged with his, sending vibrations of magic down to his very bones. With all of his strength, he willed his hand not to heal, and instead poured all of his focus onto Talæesyn’s body before him.

 

Mercer gritted his teeth, his body alight with the black fire of souls, as he prayed to whatever power would hear him. He prayed to the Six, to gods unnamed, to Haman Bloodwright and even the sealed god Dhuum.

 

Healing was never something he excelled at-- it conflicted with the only magic he possessed, but as blood met blood, he knew he would succeed. In this setting, how could he possibly fail?

Mordremoth had given him a perfect source. All of the souls from the crash fresh for the reaping-- hundreds of spirits of soldiers, tempered with powerful magics, full of emotions of shock and betrayal... What greater power could he ask for?

 

Ghoulish green light flared from his palms as he channelled the spirits forcefully through his body. Feeling the energy of his death shroud burning off of him, struggling to reign in the power, his mind focused on revenge once more.

 

If it was Mordremoth’s power she hated, he would use it.

 

If it  was a war she hoped to stop, he would start one.

 

If it was death she hoped to flee, he would ensure it.

 

If it was a monster she feared... he would become one.


End file.
